The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Year One
by SkeletalChild
Summary: In the books, there always were strange similarities between Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. This time, Harry's darkness will shine through. AU of Philosopher's Stone, similar plotline, Dark!Slytherin!Harry.
1. Diagon Alley

A/N: This will be another version of Harry's first year, except that Harry's a little different. In this story, his darker side and the similarities that he has to Tom Riddle will be much more pronounced. I named the story after some book that's mentioned in the real books. The first chapter isn't particularly interesting, I think, but hey, it's only the beginning. The suspense just doesn't belong into the first chapter. Anything else, just read for yourself. Let's get it on … Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. Anything. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts Year One: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone 

Diagon Alley

It was the 31st of July, to most people nothing but a summer day like any other, but not to the eleven year-old boy who, like many other people did, too, walked up the stairs from one of the underground stations in London, and along a busy shopping-street, trying to avoid bumping into anyone while determinedly looking out for his destination. No one took any notice of the boy, who was small and skinny for his age, had alert bright green eyes, pale skin and naturally messy black hair that was especially messy-looking now, as he hadn't bothered to comb it at all that morning. He was wearing his cousin's hand-me-downs, which were rather worn-out and much too big for him. The only remarkable-looking thing about him was a lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

This boy's name was Harry Potter, and that day was a very special day to him for many reasons. One of them was that it was his eleventh birthday, but he didn't care much about that, as he was used to his birthdays being ignored anyway. Another reason was that he was making his first trip to London ever. He had found out the truth about how parents' deaths. The most important one, though, was that he had just been told that he was a wizard. A real wizard who could do real magic, not one who performed silly card-tricks and pulled bunnies out of hats. And best of all, he had been given the opportunity to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The last days had been very eventful for Harry. Due to his parents being dead his mother's sister Petunia and her husband Vernon Dursley had raised him. The Dursleys had a son of about Harry's age as well, but they had never treated the children equally. Whereas Dudley Dursley, a mean kid of the size of a baby-whale, had been horribly spoiled and fussed over by them for all his life, Harry had mostly grown up locked away in the cupboard under the stairs that served as his room, and become used to being treated like a piece of furniture and insulted. The Dursleys thought that he was a freak and liked to pretend he didn't exist. The other children at school thought he was abnormal, too, and many of them were afraid of him. The main reason for that was that unexplainable things tended to happen around Harry. Even when he hadn't known that he was a wizard yet, he had noticed that he had abilities normal people didn't. Like he'd always been able to move small things just by willing them to. But his aunt and uncle didn't want him to do any such abnormal, evil things and punished him every time anything strange happened, so Harry tried his best to appear normal and not let anyone catch him at doing anything that didn't fit into what the Dursleys regarded as normal. But sometimes, these incidents still happened …

For example, at Dudley's birthday the Dursleys, not wanting to leave their nephew in the house on his own, had been forced to take Harry to the zoo with them. There he had spoken with a boa constrictor that had actually been able to understand and also speak to him. According to Dudley and his friend Pier Harry had been hissing to the serpent. When Dudley had shoved Harry aside to press his nose to the glass and get a better view at the snake, anger had risen in Harry, and the glass had disappeared into thin air. The boa had slithered out of its cage and into freedom, leaving a shell-shocked Dudley behind. The whole thing had enraged the whole Dursley family and earned Harry a great punishment, but he'd in fact been quite proud of himself.

Then there was this time when Dudley's gang had been chasing him and he, only wanting to get away, had somehow found himself on top of the school's roof. Or that time when one of Dudley's annoying friends, Malcolm, had caught Harry alone on the way home from school and tried to force him to lick dirt from the ground. Naturally Harry had refused, so Malcolm, who was a head taller than Harry and much stronger, had resorted to beating him with a stick. Harry had only concentrated on the desperate wish to make Malcolm hurt, too, and suddenly Malcolm had let go of Harry and was writhing on the floor in pain, screaming his lungs out. Fascinated, Harry had watched the scene before him, in full consciousness that he was the one causing it, until a couple of worried inhabitants came running, alerted by the screaming. They believed Malcolm was having some kind of fit, and the bully had been taken to the hospital where he had been found to be in perfect health. However, from then on Malcolm had tried to avoid Harry whenever possible, and the smaller boy, amazed at the possibility of being able to defend himself like that, had practiced.

When the neighbours' aggressive dog barked and growled at him from the other side of the fence, he concentrated the dog and on that unexplainable power of his, and thought of how wonderful it had felt to make Malcolm suffer, and indeed, the horrid dog fell victim to the same 'fit' that the boy had had. It never barked at Harry again.

Not wanting to get into any more trouble than necessary, he rarely used that ability of his, but was still more than happy to have it.

Anyway, a few days ago the first of these fateful letters had arrived. Harry had been sent to get the mail. Surprisingly, there had been a letter clearly addressed to him. That was so surprising, because Harry had never received a letter before, and he hadn't been able to imagine who might have sent it, or why. But before Harry could read it, Uncle Vernon had taken it from him. More letters had arrived. And more, in the strangest ways possible. But Uncle Vernon, entirely obsessed, had kept on taking more and more precautions to keep the letters away, and in the end even taken the family to hide in a shabby little hut on a small island in the sea the day before.

Precisely at midnight, someone had knocked heavily against the door. It turned out to be a giant man called Rubeus Hagrid. This man, appalled upon the fact that Harry hadn't already known, had confronted the newly eleven-year old with the fact that he was a wizard, and thus invited to attend a school for magic, Hogwarts. Hagrid was the school's gamekeeper, and had come on the headmaster's instructions to deliver Harry's acceptance letter. He explained that Harry's parents had been wizards as well, and how they had really died. Aunt Petunia had once told Harry that they had died in a car crash, but he had always known that that was not the true story. But he'd also known better than to ask any more questions.

According to Hagrid, though, a dark wizard named Voldemort had killed them. Then Voldemort had used the Killing Curse, which, as Hagrid explained, no one had ever survived yet, against Harry. The curse had backfired and, while not entirely killing Voldemort, taken his power and left the dark wizard with no choice but to flee. That was how Harry had gotten the scar on his forehead. He had been no older than a year at that time, but as he had miraculously caused Voldemort's downfall, he became a hero in the eyes of the Wizarding World.

In spite of Uncle Vernon's efforts to prevent it, Harry had eagerly accepted the invitation to the school, but nevertheless politely declined Hagrid's offer to accompany him to London to buy everything he needed, as always preferring to go on his own. So Hagrid merely gave Harry the directions, a small amount of money to pay for his little trip, a golden key that he would need to get his money from the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and the ticket for the train to the school.

After the two of them had left the island in a boat and reached the land, each of them went their own way.

That was how came Harry was walking through London right now and looking out for something. He hesitated a little in front of a small and shabby pub, noticing that none of the other people in the crowded street seemed to see to pub, eyed the sign over the door that said 'The Leaky Cauldron', then walked in.

Inside it was rather dark. When Harry entered, a few heads turned toward him. He observed a few old women who were sitting in a corner and drinking sherry, and a small man engaged talking to the old landlord behind the bar. This was definitely the place that Hagrid had told Harry to go to, but it didn't look any special or magical at all. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry closed the door behind him and took a few wary steps toward the bar.

"Excuse me, sir … I was wondering … I'm looking for Diagon Alley …", he doubtfully addressed the innkeeper.

The toothless man smiled and beckoned him to come closer. "Never been here before, have you? One moment and I'll show you, all right? Just have to …" The man froze and goggled at Harry. "My goodness … is that - can that -?"

Silence had fallen in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Harry Potter …", whispered the old man. "what an honour."

He hurried out from behind the bar and took Harry's hand with tears in his eyes. "Welcome home, Mr. Potter, welcome home."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone's eyes were on him. The old woman didn't notice that her pipe had extinguished. All of the guests wanted to shake Harry's hand now, one by one, some even several times. Doris Crockford couldn't get enough. One man, Dedalus Diggle, Harry recognized to have met before. Diggle had bowed to Harry in a shop once.

A pale young man with a terrible case of stuttering turned out to be Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrel.

It took almost ten minutes until everyone had greeted Harry and he could go. Tom, the barkeeper led him into a small courtyard, pulled out a kind of stick that Harry guessed was a wand, and tapped it thrice against one of the bricks in the wall. From the wall emerged a large gateway that led to a crooked Alley.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter." Tom said. "Have a nice day!"

He gave Harry a pat on the back and left in the Alley to gape in awe at all the shops and people in sight. There were bookshops, robe shops, a shop that sold all kinds of cauldrons, an apothecary with the strangest … potions ingredients, maybe? … like dragon liver, bat spleens, and eel eyes, a store that sold only owls, and even one that seemed to offer brooms.

Hagrid had told him to go and retrieve money from Gringotts, the bank, before anything else. He had said that the Potters had left Harry their money. Gringotts was by far the highest building in the Alley, snow-white and with a shiny bronze gate. It was run by goblins. Harry had the impression that goblins were not the friendliest of creatures.

He stood at the counter and a goblin came and asked him what he wanted.

"I'm here to get money from my family's vault."

"What's your name then, and do you have a key, sir?"

"Harry Potter, and here's the key." Harry handed the goblin the small golden key that Hagrid had given him. The goblin examined it and then called for Griphook, another goblin.

Griphook led Harry through a door into a narrow dark tunnel. He whistled and a small cart came to them on rails that were embedded in the ground. They got into the cart and it sped down on the rails deeper into an entanglement of tunnels. Griphook didn't steer the cart. It moved by itself and also seemed to know the way.

Finally they stopped at a door in the wall that Griphook opened. What Harry saw inside took his breath away.

There were mounts of gold, silver and bronze coins. And all that was his. Harry had never in his life had any money that belonged to him, and now he stood before his own small fortune. Griphook explained to Harry that the coins were galleons, sickles and knuts.

Harry wasn't sure how much money he would need, but he pocketed what he guessed should be enough.

When he, after another ride back through the tunnels, was outside in the sunlight again, he decided to go to Madame Malkin's robe shop.

Madame Malkins was a smiling witch clad in violet all over. "Hogwarts, my dear?" she said as soon as she saw Harry. "I have everything prepared here, by the way there's another young man being fitted out here right now."

At the back of the shop stood a boy with a pale, pointed face on a stool while a second witch was taking his measurements. Madame Malkin started doing the same to Harry.

"Hello," said the boy. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father is next door buying the books, and mother is looking for wands," said the boy in bored voice. "Then I'll take them to buy me a racing broom. I don't see why first years shouldn't be allowed to have one. I think I'll get on my father's nerves so long till he buys me one, and then I'll smuggle it in somehow."

The boy reminded Harry strongly of Dudley.

"Do you have your own broom?" he continued.

"No."

"Do you even play Quidditch?"

"No," repeated Harry and wondered what the hell Quidditch could be.

"But I do – father says it would be a shame if I wouldn't be chosen to play for my house, and I must say, he's right. Do you already know which house you'll be in?"

"No," said Harry, trying to make the impression as though he knew what the blonde meant by 'what house'. What kind of houses? It probably had something to do with the school.

"Well, actually no one really knows before they go there, but I know that I'll be in Slytherin, our whole family was there. – Imagine you'd be in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, don't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry. He didn't have any idea what this boy was talking about, but thought he'd better keep that to himself – after all, he didn't want to make a fool of himself. He figured he'd find out later what all of this meant. Rather change the topic to something he felt a little more confident with. "Are you taking a familiar with you?" he asked the other boy.

"Yes, an owl." answered the boy. "That's the only way to go. I mean, really, who'd want a toad? Only losers have toads. And a cat's not much better, either." He sniggered.

The boy seemed like an arrogant spoilt brat to Harry, but he had decided to keep as polite and charming as he possibly could to anyone he met in the wizarding world. That couldn't be a bad thing, after all.

"Yeah, I think I'll get one, too." he mused. As wizards normally sent mail by owl, it could prove useful to have one. Although Harry didn't have anybody to write to …

"You better. Where are your parents, anyway?"

"They're dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry." The other boy didn't sound very much like it, but Harry didn't care anyway. "But they were of our kind, weren't they?"

"She was a witch and he was a wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I don't think the others should be accepted, do you? They've been educated differently than us and just don't belong. Imagine, some of them don't even know about Hogwarts until they get their letter. I believe that the old wizarding families should remain amongst each other. What's your surname, actually?"

Before Harry could answer, Madame Malkin interrupted to tell him she was finished. Harry jumped from his stool, but looked up at the boy. "Potter," he said quietly, as soon as Madame Malkin had turned her back on them again. After people's reactions to his name in the Leaky Cauldron, he had become hesitant to say his name aloud, but as the blond boy had asked, he deserved an answer. "And yours?"

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," the blonde told him proudly, then … "but you're not HARRY Potter, are you?" He tried to catch a glimpse at Harry's forehead through the hair that Harry had purposefully draped over his scar. "Blimey, you ARE …"

"Er … yeah, that is so …" Harry stated uncomfortably. He hadn't been famous for even a day yet, but he already hated it. "Well, I have to buy my wand now. See you at Hogwarts, I guess."

"Oh, wait," said Malfoy, looking at Harry with newly found interest. "I need one too, and we can talk some more on the way."

"Sure," said Harry flatly. Inwardly he groaned, he didn't want company, and especially not this boy's.

Seemingly oblivious to the fact that his presence wasn't exactly welcome, Draco Malfoy walked next to Harry, with an air that suggested he owned the whole Alley. Or plainly that he was a stuck-up, rich kid, Harry figured.

"You will notice," said Malfoy, "that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. And you wouldn't want to mess around with the wrong kind. I could help you there."

"Yeah, perhaps …" Harry disliked the boy, but thought it unwise to refuse him until he didn't know who this boy meant by 'the wrong kind'. He was positively sure that he would never be friends with Malfoy, but then again he wasn't going to drive away his first few contacts when he had just been thrown into a completely new world. It was true, he had yet to find out what the standards in this world were and whom it would pay off to treat nicely.

"Do you remember how your parents died?" asked Malfoy not very tactfully.

For a second Harry contemplated telling him to mind his own business, not really wanting to lead any deeper conversation with Malfoy, but then decided on the diplomatic way. "No, not really," he answered, "only that there was green light …"

"Green light? From a curse, maybe? I don't know, maybe that's what the Killing Curse looks like … my father would know, though. He knows a lot, you know, and he's a very important man at the ministry. He's even on very intimate terms with the minister himself, so we regularly have Fudge and his wife over for dinner …"

Harry thought about that. The killing curse? What exactly was the curse that had killed his parents, but not him, and was that really the cause of the green light that haunted his dreams? He wondered if he would get to know that at school … he realized more and more how much there was that he didn't know, really …

They had reached Ollivander's, Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C. Harry thought he couldn't bear any more excitement, a wand was what he had been looking forward to the most. All the things he could do once he had one …

A beautiful woman with long blond hair was already waiting in the shop.

"This is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy," introduced Draco. "Mother, this is Harry Potter."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Narcissa Malfoy arrogantly, extending her hand. She tried to hide that her eyes flickered to Harry's scar for a second, but Harry took notice anyway.

"The pleasure's all mine, Mrs Malfoy," said Harry and shook her hand with a friendly, though forced, smile. She nodded approvingly.

Suddenly an old man stepped out of the shadows. There was something about him that made Harry feel slightly cold. Harry guessed that he was the wand-maker, Mr Ollivander.

"Good afternoon," said the man in a soft voice. "Ah, yes. Thought you'd come, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy."

Mr Ollivander approached them, looking at the three customers with pale silver eyes. "Mrs Malfoy, what a pleasure …" he addressed Draco's mother and elegantly kissed her hand. "Ash and unicorn hair, eleven inches, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that was it," answered Mrs Malfoy.

"So, let's start with young Mr. Malfoy here, then … which is your wand-hand?"

"Left, sir."

"Hold out your arm. Like this, very good." Mr Ollivander measured Malfoy all over, all the while talking about wands. Harry listened interestedly.

Then Malfoy had to wave a number of different wands, all made from various kinds of wood and containing dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix feather. At first nothing at all seemed to happen. Harry wondered what the old wand-maker was actually waiting for, and was slowly becoming slightly impatient, until finally a shower of sparks emerged from the tip of the wand in Malfoy's hand. Harry stared in awe. Malfoy looked proud.

"Excellent, excellent!" exclaimed the Mr Ollivander, "Good wand you got there. Ten and a half inches, birch, dragon heartstring. That makes seven Galleons, Mr Malfoy."

Mrs Malfoy paid for her son's wand, but neither she nor Draco appeared in any way inclined to leave.

"Don't bother waiting for me," Harry told them, hoping they'd gratefully leave. "I'll be fine."

"No, no, my dear, that's okay, we don't mind at all," replied Mrs Malfoy, much to Harrys displeasure. He didn't feel like having an audience. So far, being famous was more annoying than anything else, seeing as he doubted very much that people like the Malfoys would be showing any interest in him if he weren't.

"Now to you, then, Mr Potter. Which is your wand-hand?"

"I'm right-handed, sir."

"Mr Ollivander took Harry's measurements, too, and shoved one wand after the other into his hand for him to wave.

Harry tried.

And tried.

Nothing happened.

Draco sat down on a chair. Harry oppressed a slightly content smile seeing that the young aristocrat was obviously getting tired. But Harry himself was also becoming worried … and very, very nervous … it was taking so long … maybe there was no wand that would fit him … what if there had been some kind of mistake? He was fairly sure that he'd done magic before, but maybe he wasn't good enough … any moment Mr Ollivander might tell him there was nothing he could do for him, and he should rather go back home …

"Difficult customer, eh?" said Ollivander, who seemed to become happier with every new wand that Harry tried.

When Harry thought he surely had to have tried almost every single wand in the shop, Mr Ollivander had an idea.

"I wonder …" he mused, "strange connection …" And he went into the back of the shop and brought back yet another wand.

Harry took it and a feeling of warmth spread through him. He lifted the wand and waved it. This time it gave a shower of green sparks and Mr Ollivander clapped.

"Curious," he said, "very curious indeed."

"Excuse me," said Harry, "but what is curious?"

"The phoenix that gave the feather for your wand gave one more feather, just one more. It's curious that this should be the wand that is meant for you, while its brother … while its brother gave you this scar."

Mrs Malfoy who had been listening attentively gasped. Her face was chalk-white and she stared at Harry in a mixture of awe and fear. Her son looked confused for a moment, then comprehended the wand-maker's words and went on to gaping like a fish.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Really curious, how things come together. The wand picks the wizard, remember … I think we have to expect great things from you, Mr Potter … After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done great things, too … terrible, yes, but great."

Harry's stomach felt like it couldn't stop making back-flips. His worries had fallen off him, and been replaced by a feeling of triumph and excitement. He knew that he probably should still feel a bit worried or perhaps even upset, as his wand was connected to the one that belonged to his parents' murderer, but actually that only added to the excitement. He was itching to try to do magic with his wand.

Great things … terrible, but great …

Harry shuddered. He paid seven galleons for his wand and Mr Ollivander accompanied them to the door with a bow.

The three of them walked further along the street in silence. Harry kept his head down determinedly, but that didn't help him at all against the awkwardness as he felt the Malfoys' intent stares on him.

The snowy owl hooted in her cage.

Mrs Malfoy led them to Flourish and Blotts'. A man with in expensive-looking robes was already waiting there, a set of books in his hands. Harry figured he must be Draco's father. They both had the same light blond hair and silver eyes. And that attitude of wealth and power

"Ah, there you are now … what took you so long, Narcissa, dear? I have already collected Draco's books." Then he noticed Harry. "And who, if I may ask, would you be?"

"Harry Potter, sir." Harry spoke quietly, meeting the man's eyes. The man's face didn't betray the fact that he found anything special about that at all, instead his face was frozen into an icy mask and he radiated a cool air when he shook Harry's outstretched hand. But it didn't quite reach his eyes … Harry could almost see the mess of emotions and stray thoughts running free behind them.

This man's reaction was unlike that of anyone else Harry had met today. He couldn't exactly explain why he was so sure of that, but he had the distinct feeling that Lucius Malfoy associated the Boy-Who-Lived with something other than the salvation of the wizarding world.

The older man was the first to turn his gaze away uncomfortably. "Lucius Malfoy." His tone sounded even more arrogant his wife's.

"Father, I want a racing broom now, there's the new Nimbus 2000 out now and …" Draco said in a commanding voice, greatly reminding Harry of Dudley.

His mother cut him off angrily. "Not so fast, my boy, you haven't even started your first year, and brooms are not allowed before second year, and with a good reason, I must say …"

"But father promised …"

This time his father was the one to interrupt. "I promised nothing more than to think about it. But your mother is quite right, actually. They wouldn't let you fly on it at school, anyway. You can have a broom next year."

Draco looked like he was going to protest, but then thought better of it.

Narcissa broke the silence. "Well, then, I think you have got everything then, Draco, don't you?" She turned to Harry. "I'm sorry, but I think we should get home now, you certainly did take your time with your wand … of course, it was quite interesting to watch, though. I'd love to accompany you till you're finished, but we have important guests for dinner and I haven't prepared anything yet …" She looked a little worried.

"Oh, I can get my stuff quite well on my own, that's no problem at all. I wish you a pleasant dinner. I'm glad I met you and your family, hopefully we meet again sometime soon."

"Yeah, in any case we'll meet on the train," said Draco.

They said goodbye and the Malfoys departed. Harry noticed Mrs Malfoy whispering something to her husband as soon as they were out of earshot. Something was probably about him, as they turned around for one last look at him.

Shrugging it off, Harry began looking in Flourish and Blotts' for the books he would need for school.

He didn't have much trouble finding them, but remained looking through as many of the other books in the shop as he possibly could. He was completely enthralled. Everywhere he looked plenty of highly interesting titles sprung to his eye. He refrained from spending all his money at once, but couldn't resist buying a few books more than necessary.

In the end, he left the shop laden with 'Hogwarts: A History', 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' (Harry had actually spotted his own name in the book when he'd skipped through it) 'Jinxes and Counter-Jinxes' by Professor Vindictus Viridian, 'The Most Basic Facts about Wizarding History of the Twentieth Century' by Frances Ferrault, 'Useful Charms for Every Situation' by Eric Anderson, 'Most Potente Potions' (which looked quite difficult, but nevertheless intriguing), 'Practical Defensive Magic' by Cain Holmes, "Invent Your Own Spells: A Beginner's Guide' by Mara Mongo, and a second-hand filthy grey book without a title that Harry thought was probably a relict from the middle ages, the way it looked. (He had no idea why he had picked it up in the first place, it had seemed to him almost as though the book had been calling out to him, but he could only shake his head at that thought. It was a book, and books didn't have a mind of their own.)

Next Harry bought the potions ingredients, the cauldron and everything else required. Carrying all his new things was getting pretty hard. So he went back to the Leaky Cauldron in order to get to Muggle London.

It had already started to dusk when he, after a hearty goodbye from Tom, had arrived at the station and entered the train that would bring him back to the Dursleys.

His head was spinning with thoughts about all the new impressions and experiences that he'd had that day, and his heart was filled with joy and anticipation and a burning desire to learn magic as soon as possible as he looked out of the window, observing the changes in landscape as Surrey was drawing closer with every minute.

He couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts.

A/N: Firstly, in case you're wondering, Draco and Harry will NOT become friends.

Secondly, I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes, but seeing as English is a language I have for the most part only learned at school, my English is not perfect. If you notice mistakes, however, just point them out to me.

I hope you like it so far; please do share with me any thoughts, opinions, questions, suggestions or criticism. If you feel like it, write an essay on how much my writing sucks. But take care to tell me the reasons why you think so, I really want to improve. Make me happy. Leave a review.


	2. Hogwarts

A/N: Hey, here you go … not a very long chapter, but so I'll just write the next one faster. Still very often the same thing that happens in the book happens in this story at the same time. Later that will happen less, but it's necessary in the beginning. 

Thank you so much to the people who reviewed last chapter, these were: RL Seward, alwaysariyana, Xenia Marvolo, desithug, wsantelm, bandgsecurtisyaw, Salazar-Reaper, mikiel, Wild Star 7, and Lady Silverhawk.

I hadn't expected to get so many reviews, you people really gave me a pleasant surprise.

Responses:

alwaysariyana: Ignore some things? Like what?

Xenia Marvolo: They won't, not really. Sorry, but that would be a little boring if they did, don't you think?

wsantelm: Don't worry, I won't?

Wild Star 7: Did you get my reply? Then you should already know your review was most helpful. Thoughtful person, you are. So yeah, as I said there will probably be some flashbacks about Harry's childhood and so later.

Disclaimer: No, I still don't own it.

The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Year One 

Hogwarts

On September the first at half past ten the Dursleys and Harry arrived at King's Cross Station in London. Vernon had agreed to drive Harry there, if only because he had to take Dudley to the hospital to get the tail removed that Hagrid had given him.

The last month, Harry had had the best time he could remember ever having in his life. The Dursleys had left him completely alone, they hadn't locked him in the closet, shouted at him or forced him to do anything. Best of all, Dudley had been so frightened that he gave a high-pitched scream and ran away every time Harry entered a room.

Of course, that made him quite happy, but it was nothing against the prospect of being able to do magic.

Harry had enthusiastically buried himself in his new schoolbooks. He had always enjoyed school, but naturally his curiosity was a hundred times greater yet about everything he would be studying from now on. Also he was determined not to have a disadvantage by growing up without magic, and had decided to study as hard as he could and do the best he could. So by the end of the holidays he'd read each of his books at least twice, and tried out a lot of the spells. Some he had found were still too complicated, but he thought even with the ones that he already could do he would have some advantage in class.

The grey book had been the one that Harry had had the most trouble with. The letters were in an old style, and faded, and not only was it written in Old English, it was also horribly complicated. It was, as he had found out by reading through it, about all sorts of mind magic, which was quite a science of its own. Harry had been amazed to learn about how many complex things you could do to mess with other people's minds, or control or possess them, or even in a way look inside them. The book also explained how you could protect yourself against anything of that sort, but Harry had only been able to do a few of the easier exercises like clearing the mind yet, which sounded a lot like meditation to him. Or at least he had tried, how could he be sure he was doing it right?

As his efforts didn't show any immediate success, he had decided to work slowly on this and focus on learning the first-year spells and transfigurations first. Nevertheless, he had made a point of doing a few exercises before going to sleep as a nightly ritual. He found he slept much better when he was calm and had nothing on his mind, anyway.

And he had his owl. He had named her Hedwig, a name that he had come across in A History of Magic. While he was lying on the bed, reading till late at night, Hedwig flew in and out of the window as she pleased. Luckily Aunt Petunia had stopped coming in with the vacuum cleaner, because Hedwig constantly brought dead mice with her.

Harry had made a month calendar and every night, before he went to sleep, he checked off another day.

Despite all of that, Harry was constantly afraid that he might just wake up and find that he'd only dreamed a very realistic and long dream.

He didn't think he could bear that.

On Harry's ticket it said that he had to take the train at eleven o'clock from platform nine-and-three-quarters. His aunt and uncle had stared at him incredulously when he had told them so.

Uncle Vernon lifted Harry's trunk onto a luggage cart and pushed it to the platform. Harry thought this was unusually friendly of him, until Uncle Vernon stopped in front of the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, that's it, boy. Platform nine – platform ten. Yours should be somewhere in between, but they probably haven't built it yet, have they?"

He was right; platform nine-and-three-quarters didn't seem to exist.

"So then, have a nice term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier grin.

"Thanks, I'm sure I will," replied Harry confidently.

Vernon disappeared without another word. Harry turned to see the Dursleys drive away. All three were laughing.

Harry was most grateful to have read Hogwarts, A History. He knew that the platform was exactly where it should be, but was magically shielded from sight. According to the book all he had to do was go through the barrier between platform nine and ten.

He was a little afraid that it might not work and he might collide with the barrier, but pushed his trunk and Hedwig's cage toward it as casually as he could.

The barrier came closer – and closer – he couldn't stop anymore now – he'd almost reached it - and then he was suddenly standing before a red steam engine, on a platform full of people. A sign above the train said 'Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock'. Harry had done it.

He made his way through the crowd in search of a free compartment.

He passed a round-faced boy and heard him wail, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh. Harry grinned.

A small crowd had come together around a boy with dreadlocks. They all wanted to have a look at his tarantula. Harry stopped and tiptoed to catch a glimpse at it over someone's head, too.

Lee lifted the tarantula out of the box, and several people screamed. Harry was not afraid of spiders, probably because there had almost always been spiders in his cupboard. Still, this one was the biggest one that he had ever seen, except for in a TV show that he had watched with the Dursleys once.

Harry turned and tried to push and pull his heavy trunk onto the train. He hissed in pain when it fell on his toes as a result, and he himself almost lost his balance.

"Do you need help?" asked a redheaded, freckled boy. Right behind him stood his identical twin.

"Yes, please," panted Harry, and the twins helped him store the trunk on the train.

"Thanks," said Harry and wiped the hair out of his face.

"What's that?" exclaimed one of the twins suddenly and pointed to Harry's lightening bolt – shaped scar.

"Blimey!" said the other twin. "Are you -?"

"It is him", said the first twin. "Or are you not?" he added, addressing Harry.

"Who?" asked Harry, already dreading the answer.

"Harry Potter," the twins chorused.

"Oh, that," said Harry. "Yeah, that's me."

The twins stared at him with their mouths open. Harry still was not really used to these reactions, and blushed. The twins grinned identically.

"Anyway, I'm Fred Weasley, and that's my dear brother George," one of them told him.

"No, he's lying, he's George, and I'm Fred," the other said.

"You're impossible to tell apart anyway, so it doesn't really matter, does it?" Harry stated with a smile, glad for the change of topic. They laughed.

Then someone called the twins' names. "Oh, that's Mum calling."

"See ya, Harry." They jumped out of the train to look for the rest of their family.

Harry unpacked his potions book and sat down next to the window to review some stuff. However, the peace didn't last very long, and a short while later the compartment door opened, just when the train started and slowly began to leave the station behind.

Draco Malfoy stood before Harry in all his glory, two heavy-built boys at his sides. The two reminded very much of bodyguards. All of them already had their Hogwarts robes on, Harry noticed. He felt a little awkward, as he himself was still wearing his cousin's much too big and worn-out hand-me-downs.

"Hello, Potter. Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle. Sit down, guys." The three of them sat down. Malfoy eyed Harry's clothes as though inspecting a digested frog. "I would put my robes on if I were you, Potter."

"I wanted to do that now, anyway," said Harry in his best attempt of not sounding embarrassed. He went to put his robes on.

Harry had decided that although he did not like Malfoy very much, he would keep his polite, although not at all warm, attitude toward the boy. The name of Malfoy had appeared more than once in his history books, and he had the impression that the family was very influential in the wizarding world, thus Harry thought that it could definitely prove a good decision to act polite toward Malfoy.

Still, that changed nothing Harry's personal opinion of Malfoy as a rich spoiled kid with too big a head.

Apart from that, Harry was aware that he still knew nowhere near enough about the new world that he had recently been thrown into yet. He needed to find out more about the way it worked, and its rules and boundaries. And unfortunately he would have to bother with people if he wanted to get anywhere, no matter if he liked them or not.

By the time he joined the others in the compartment again, Malfoy had bought a large pile of sweets. He offered Harry some. Harry was particularly amazed to see that Bertie Bott's All Flavour Beans really were of all flavours. Only after eating one that was so spicy that tears flooded his eyes did he lose his appetite.

"I heard you have been living with muggles, is that really true?" Malfoy wanted to know. He sounded as though that were the most disgusting thing ever.

"Yes, it is true." Harry took care to keep his voice clear of any emotions, as this seemed to be a really delicate subject.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "I bet that was terrible, or wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was, but I'd rather talk about something more … pleasant," replied Harry coolly. Malfoy seemed content with the answer, so Harry added, "why don't you tell me some more about your family?"

Happily the blonde jumped at the chance to do so. Extensively.

Inwardly, Harry snorted at the display of Malfoy's family pride, but kept his face straight and listened attentively.

Crabbe and Goyle never said anything. Perhaps they weren't even able to?

A short while later a girl came to sit with them, Pansy Parkinson. She was a first-year, too. She talked excitedly to Draco, and Harry, who was in no mood to participate, returned to his potions book.

When the sky outside had started to darken, the train came to a halt. Noise erupted as people left their compartments, and tried to get out of the train all at once.

They were there!

"Firs' years over here!" The huge groundskeeper Hagrid called and waved them over. They could leave their belongings on the train; they would be taken into the school later.

The first-years had to get into small boats that rowed themselves over a lake. There they saw Hogwarts. Harry stopped dead.

The school was a big castle on a hill, with several high towers, and the lake that lay between them and the castle was glistening in the pale light of the rising moon. Once more something Harry had so far only read about he saw now with his own eyes. In fact, Harry had rarely ever seen something as breathtakingly beautiful as this sight before him now.

Hagrid noticed his expression. "Like it, do ya?" he chuckled.

"Yes, it's … I mean …wow …" Harry stuttered without being able to tear his gaze away. What amazed him so much, apart from the fact that his school was a real castle, was what it represented to him.

A new world. One without the Dursleys, one without their beloved fake normality, one that he could explore, where he could start anew and be something better than some common good-for-nothing kid going to Stonewall High. That was what the Dursleys had wanted him to be, but now he was finally free of them.

What exactly his expectations were, he was not certain. But he knew that he would be damned if he made nothing of this chance.

When they had reached the castle, they were welcomed by a stern-looking elderly witch in emerald robes whose black hair was tied into a knot. Hagrid addressed her as Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall explained to them about the four Houses and how they were going to earn or lose points in a competition between the Houses. Although Harry did not see why anyone should care about House points or anything else of that sort.

Several students screamed when some ghosts came by, engaged in an argument about some guy they referred to as Peeves. Professor McGonagall led them into the Great Hall, where they stood in a line and waited to be sorted. All of them were really excited, including Harry.

A few of them shared with each other their theories as to how they were going to be sorted. Obviously most of them had not read Hogwarts, A History. So almost everyone was surprised when McGonagall brought in a stool, and an old hat.

The hat broke into a song.

When it had finished, Professor McGonagall read their names from a roll of parchment, and the pupils she called forward had to sit on the stool and put the hat on.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat. One of the tables clapped and cheered as Hannah sat down there.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brown, Lavender!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

…

Everyone that had sat with Harry on the train was sorted into Slytherin. He was most anxious to know where he would be sorted himself. It was his turn soon …

… and then, finally …

"Potter, Harry!"

When he made his way to the stool, whispers erupted everywhere in the Hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"THE Harry Potter?"

Harry ignored them and sat down and put the hat on. It covered his eyes and he saw nothing anymore.

"Mmmh," said the hat, "quite some courage. Also a good mind, knowledge-seeking. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a strong thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … a desire to be unique … not very social, and what's this, dangerous abyss … deceiving …you're quite an unusual young boy … well, it's not too difficult a decision … you could be great, you know, it's all there in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness. Yes, that's what you'll want, yes, I'm sure, it better be SLYTHERIN!"

Harry stood up and went to the applauding Slytherin table. On the way he almost physically felt the attention of every single person in the Great Hall on him. Fred and George waved to him as he passed their table. They looked a little put out because he was not in their house. Harry gave them a small smile. He sat down at the table in between some older students Then he at last got a good view at the staff table.

There was Hagrid, whom of course he knew, and he also recognized Dumbledore, having seen his picture on a chocolate frog card earlier that day. Then there were of course Quirrel, McGonagall, and other teachers that Harry did not know.

The last first-years were sorted, among them Ron Weasley, a redhead that was probably Fred and George's younger brother. Ron was sorted into Gryffindor, where the twins already were, too.

Albus Dumbledore stood up. "Welcome!" he shouted with a smile. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we start our feast I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

And he sat down again, receiving great applause.

"What the hell did he mean by that?" Harry asked the person to his right, a tall boy of about fifteen or sixteen.

The boy chuckled. "If anyone knew what goes on in this man's head … He's a genius, probably the best wizard in the world, but to say he's little eccentric at times would be an understatement. Completely off his rocker, I'd say. Ah, finally …"

Food had appeared on the table. Lots of it. Harry stared at it in awe and then did the same as everyone else. He put a bit of everything onto his plate and started to eat.

"I haven't introduced myself yet, my name is Marcus Flint," said the boy next to him, "of course I already know who you are. Well, you're a celebrity." He grinned.

Harry snorted. "I'd rather not."

"Why not, I mean apart from everyone gossiping about you, a lot of people really adore you, you know. That can't be all bad, can it?"

"Sure, but well, I'm all of a sudden famous for something I don't even remember. If I'd really done something to earn that, I guess I'd feel much better about it."

"So you don't remember what happened when You-Know-Who …"

"I don't remember much, no. But I'd really like to." Harry said. He thought that the topic was actually private, but he also really didn't see a point in avoiding to be reminded of his parents' death, they were gone and that was it. He had accepted that.

But what he had told Flint was true; Harry didn't feel at all comfortable with not knowing how came he had survived that curse and become Voldemort's downfall. Was there anything special about him? Could he do something like that again? Or had it only been a mere coincidence that had saved him?

He looked up at the staff table again. Hagrid was taking a sip from his goblet. McGonagall was talking to Dumbledore. And Professor Quirrel was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and pale skin.

Suddenly, that teacher looked back into Harry's eyes, and a sharp, hot pain seared through Harry's scar.

"Ouch!"

"What's up with you?" asked Flint.

"Nothing. Who is that teacher there, talking to Professor Quirrel?" he asked.

"You already know Quirrel? No wonder he's so nervous. That's Professor Snape, he is our Head of House. He teaches Potions. Would love to have Quirrel's job, though."

Harry kept on watching Snape for a while, but Snape did not look over again.

He then curiously questioned Flint about all the subjects they were going to have, and what they would start with.

"You really sound like you couldn't wait till tomorrow!" laughed Flint.

"Well, I don't know if I can," said Harry indignantly. "I might explode from curiosity first, you know."

"Mark my words, you'll change your mind after you've been through one of Binn's lessons and written a five-foot essay for McGonagall."

Eventually all the dishes vanished and Professor Dumbledore gave a short speech, in which he reminded the students that they were not allowed to go into the forbidden forest, or to do magic in the corridors, and told them when Quidditch trials would be held. He said that they were forbidden to go into the right-wing corridor on the third floor, if they did not want to die a very painful death.

The students viewed the last prohibition as particularly strange, but nobody asked any questions about it.

Then they sang the school hymn. Not that Harry knew much about school hymns, but he was sure this one was very unusual.

After that the prefects led the new students to their common rooms. Marcus Flint and a girl with long maroon hair were the Slytherin prefects. The common rooms were down in the dungeons; they followed Flint and the girl through what seemed like a labyrith of corridors before they stopped in front of a plain wall.

Flint said, "Password," and a hidden door in the wall opened.

"Remember the password," reminded the girl.

They entered a long dungeon with the same stonewalls as everywhere else. Greenish light came from round lamps that were hanging from the ceiling on chains. A fire was crackling in a skilfully carved fireplace around which several high chairs were standing. It possessed a cool, yet comfortable atmosphere. Harry could get used to this.

Then they were shown their dormitories. Harry was sharing one with his fellow first-year boys, Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, of course, and also Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.

He was not ecstatic about having to share a dorm with so many people. At the Dursleys' he'd only had his cupboard, but at least he'd had that to himself. At school he would not well be able to withdraw from people when he felt like it. He mentally shrugged. He would just have to get used to it, then.

He only noticed how exhausted he was when he fell into bed, but he still could not relax his mind and sleep, so he just lay there still and listened to his roommates' breathing.

So far, as he contemplated, dreams were finally coming true.

A/N: So, that was it for today. I've already started writing the next chapter, so that shouldn't take too long.

And don't forget to leave a review!


	3. Wolves, Lessons and Hagrid

A/N: Without much ado …

Thanks again for your kind reviews to: Xenia Marvolo, zeta phoenix, Angelis Raye, bandgsecurtiyaw, and wsantelm.

zeta phoenix: Okay, it wasn't particularly imaginative, but it was my best idea at the time. So it stays.

Angelis Raye: Thank you, hm, word's a really good help to me, but it just doesn't notice everything …

Disclaimer: … and still not mine …

The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts: Year One

Wolves, Lessons and Hagrid

The next morning Harry woke up in a room he did not know, and in a bed that was not his. He looked around feeling disorientated, and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Then, it came to him. Oh, yes, of course he was not at Privet Drive any longer, he was in his new dorm, at school. His roommates were still sleeping soundly in their beds.

Harry noticed with amusement that Nott was lying on his stomach and had pulled the covers over his head so that only his legs could be seen sticking out of the heap.

Lessons would be starting today. In - Harry fished his watch from his trunk – almost exactly two-and-three-quarter hours! He stood up and dressed, taking care not to make any noise and wake someone, and left the Slytherin dungeons. He still had some time until breakfast, and he could use it to explore the castle while the halls were still empty.

Without any particular aim, he wandered through the halls. He went up a few staircases and was walking through a broad corridor when he heard voices from behind a corner.

"They would have stolen it from Gringotts if it had been removed only a day later! Hogwarts is the safest place to hide it, I know, but I still cannot help but feeling a little worried, now, with all the students here … they must not know! And what if one of them gets curious, they'll be killed if they go looking … I mean, students like the Weasley twins …"

"Really, Podmona, they have been warned, and I think that even they are sensible enough not to ignore that. Even IF they should open the door, they'll run away and never go there again when they have seen what is behind it. And as for someone trying to steal it, it's well protected, and anyway, no one will dare try anything as long as Dumbledore is here."

"Yes, you are right about that one. But then again … Oh, I'm just getting too worked up again. There really is no reason. It is all perfectly safe. And anyway, all the teachers are informed and taking care."

The voices were coming closer. Harry quickly hid behind a large statue. It did not sound to him as though the people who were talking would be too pleased if they found out that he had listened in, even if it hadn't been on purpose.

Professor McGonagall and another of the teachers whose name Harry did not know – wasn't she responsible for the Hufflepuffs or something? – walked past him. He pressed himself to the wall as closely as he could, not daring to breathe. They did not notice him.

Only when they had turned around the next corner did he let out the breath that he had held, and came out of his hiding place. His natural curiosity was aroused.

Just what in the world had the two professors been talking about?

Harry contemplated that while he was trying to find the Great Hall. From what he had understood, it had had to do with something dangerous that seemed to be hidden somewhere in the school. And that had been at Gringotts before? Where it would have been STOLEN?

As far as Harry knew, it was close to impossible to steal anything from Gringotts. And what might it be that was worth a try to somebody?

Money?

That certainly was of no danger to the students. But McGonagall had said that they'd been warned.

Well, what had they been warned of? So far, Harry's only warning had been Dumbledore's speech the other day. Dumbledore had warned them not to go into the Forbidden Forest and the third floor corridor. Did any of those have anything to do with it?

Or had McGonagall meant another warning? Perhaps one that Harry, out of whatever reasons, had not yet been given?

And why did only the teachers know of it, but not the students?

It didn't make sense.

Harry decided that he couldn't possibly know what the teachers had been talking about, but that he should keep the overheard conversation in mind, in case he'd come across a chance to find out more.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, it was too late when he noticed that he had not at all been keeping track where he was going anymore.

"Damn," he muttered, checking his watch. He was angry with himself. His first day, and he had to get lost!

There was no one around whom he could have asked for directions. He turned and tried go back the way he had come, but merely ended up in some other far-off corner of the castle.

Breakfast was starting soon. Harry cursed his bad luck. Just when he needed help, nobody turned up. If only he knew a spell that could show him directions … but he didn't.

A while later nothing at all had improved, and he was growing a little desperate. His felt as though he had hurried through the entire castle more than once, and was starting to lose hope of ever getting to breakfast, or even his lessons, in time.

He sighed and leaned against a wall. Opposite of him there was a painting on the wall of a savage-looking man with long unkempt hair and beard and a rather nasty scar over his left eye. In the background of the painting there was a dark forest and a small hut. Presumably the man was some hermit who had been drawn in front of the hut he lived in. The man himself glared at Harry with a wary and distrustful expression and tore a great bite off what looked like a piece of raw steak.

This was not the first painting that Harry had seen move, so he wasn't particularly surprised. But he still interestedly watched the man devour his steak in a rather unsightly way. Blood was dripping from it and running down his chin.

The man seemed to be getting irritated and bared his bloody teeth in an attempt to frighten Harry into looking away.

Harry raised his eyebrows and adopted an annoyingly innocent look.

The man glared dangerously.

Harry smiled dryly and sighed again. "If only you were a real person, you know, then I could at least ask you where the Great Hall is, however much you glared at me," he said accusingly to the painting.

It almost seemed as though the man had understood him, but that couldn't be … could it? The man stared at him bewildered, and swallowed his latest bite of steak, then pointed down the corridor from which Harry had just come.

"Well, if I were a real person, I'd say I could tell you it's this way."

"This … did you just SPEAK!"

"Yes, what's so special about that? You do that, too, don't you?"

"Er, yes, of course I do … I just didn't know paintings could talk, so I was sort of surprised. Anyway, can you tell me exactly what the way is, please?"

"Don't think much of telling, but I can show you alright …" The man was suddenly gone from the painting. Then Harry heard his voice calling from another painting a few metres further. "C'mon!"

Harry followed the man, who was moving from one painting to the other with amazing speed. He had to run his fastest to keep up. And Harry could run really fast. But like this, he got out of breath soon.

"Could you … just … slow down … a bit?"

The man complied, and they walked. His facial expression had turned from unfriendly into an almost-smile now. "You're pretty funny, kiddo. But you can run okay. What's your name? Not that it really matters."

"Harry Potter."

"Oh ... I'm Randy Kremel. You're new here, then?"

"Yes." At Randy's obvious change in behaviour towards him, Harry decided it was safe to ask him a question. "Do you live in that hut on that painting upstairs? Where we just met, I mean."

"Yes, I do. Lonesome place, actually. I've rarely talked to anyone since I moved into that forest. And that was quite some time ago, when I'd …" he stopped in mid-sentence.

"When what?" asked Harry carefully.

"When I'd turned from Greyback."

"Greyback?"

"Fenrir Greyback. You wouldn't know him, if you don't even know that paintings can speak."

"Who is he, then?"

"He's infamous, a werewolf … easily the worst there is out there. He was the one who bit me."

"You're a WEREWOLF?"

Randy gave a deep chuckle. "Why, yes, so I am."

"Oh … and that Greyback guy? What did he do that was so bad?"

"Many things. He was a particularly feared follower of the Dark Lord. He's a leader to a lot of werewolves, mostly the ones that don't try to adapt in normal wizarding society. He usually bites children, so they can be raised to hate wizards. I myself was one of them. I was bitten when I was seven. You see, usually werewolves bite and kill only when they cannot help it. They can't control themselves at full moon. There is even a potion against that now, but that is a very recent invention. Anyway, Fenrir always did those things on purpose, and often for pleasure. Actually, I … well, I don't want to scare you too much now … or tell you too much …" He gave Harry a questioning look.

"I'm not scared," Harry ensured him, "and you can tell me anything, I think it's fascinating."

"Well, there was a time when I quite readily joined him there. And I must admit I took pleasure in a lot of cruelties. I was like a son to Fenrir … his most treasured, he used to say … but then … then, I betrayed him."

"Why?"

Randy looked uncomfortable. "That is another story. We're here now, anyway.' He pointed to the doors of the Great Hall. 'It was a pleasure talking to you. You're a little less annoying that most of these brats running around here. In case you want to, feel free to visit me whenever you want."

"I think I will."

Harry went into the Great Hall. The others were already there.

"Hey, where have you been?" Theodore Nott wanted to know.

"Looking around a bit."

At the staff table the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, had apparently noticed Harry's late arrival. He caught Harry's eye and raised an eyebrow as though inquiring for an explanation.

Harry gave him a small smile that was somewhere in between mischievous and a little guilty. He had a feeling that that was the right thing to do.

And it was. The headmaster smiled back indulgently and winked. Then he turned back to the teacher whom Harry had seen with McGonagall that morning and said something to her.

"Looking around where?" Nott insisted.

"The castle."

"Figures. Did you see anything interesting?"

"Not much. Just a few nice paintings."

Their first lesson was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Harry tried to get a seat in the front row, but wasn't fast enough. So he ended up sitting in the middle, next to Theodore.

First thing their teacher came to the point by making a short speech.

"Transfiguration is one of the most difficult and most dangerous kinds of magic that you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone who fools around in my lessons has to go and will not come back. You have been warned."

Then she transfigured her desk into a pig and back again. Everyone was very impressed and wanted to get started. Harry, having tried a few easier transfigurations in his room at Privet Drive, knew that that was greatly difficult and would take them a lot of time to learn.

When they had copied some information from the blackboard they were given matches that they should transfigure into needles.

This was the first exercise in their transfiguration book, and Harry had already mastered it. So he transfigured his match and sat back in his chair, watching his classmates' efforts.

Next to him, Nott had little luck. It was funny to watch him waving his through the air angrily.

"Careful, or you'll poke someone's eye," Harry teased him.

"Why don't you do it better, then?" snapped Theodore. Then he saw Harry's needle. "Oh, wow, you've done it!" He looked around. "You're the only one, no one else has managed to do it yet! How did you do that?"

"I've practised a little at home."

"Can you help me, then? I have no clue why it doesn't work … I'm doing this right, exactly as she said." Theodore waved his wand again.

"No, not like that, just a really small wave, you only need to shake your wrist a little. Like this." Harry showed the movement to Theodore, who imitated it.

"Five points to Slytherin for having paid much more attention to what my instructions than your neighbour, Potter," said the Transfiguration Professor's stern voice from behind Harry. She was inspecting his needle with a smile on her face. "And another five for being the first to actually do this right. Take an example in this, all of you."

"Hey, Harry, look, I think mine has become kind of pointy here!" whispered Theodore triumphantly. "And even a little shiny!"

McGonagall gave him an admonitory look. He immediately shrunk in his chair.

"Well, let me see it," she said and took Nott's match to hold it up against the light.

"Hmm … with some imagination, you might be right." She gave the match back to Nott and told the class that for homework they should practise.

Harry's other classes went just as well. Even so, History of Magic was really boring, but at least you could relax while Professor Binns was droning on. Harry gave his best to concentrate on listening to him though. What Binns told them was actually really interesting; it was just the way he talked that made it hard to pay any attention.

But Defense Against the Dark Arts was the most disappointing. After having reada about it, Harry had really been looking forward to the subject, but Quirrel seemed to have no idea of teaching whatsoever. He told them that an African prince had given him the turban he was wearing all the time, for getting rid of a bothersome zombie for the prince, but no one really believed that, as Quirrel did his best to avoid having to answer the question of how he had accomplished that.

The Weasley twins insisted on their theory that he had garlic in it to keep vampires away.

They also had Astronomy and Herbology. Their Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, was the one that Harry had listened in one, as he noted.

However, Charms soon became Harry's favorite subject. Little Professor Flitwick was a really good teacher, and his lessons were not dry or boring at all, but you learned a lot. Harry quickly noticed he was especially talented in the subject.

Friday morning at breakfast, Blaise Zabini read the day's schedule out loud.

"Potions with the Gryffindors!" moaned Theodore. "What for?"

"The better," Draco said smirking.

"What's so good about that?"

"We have Snape. He's bound to favour us, his own house. Any anyway, he's very good friends with my father. Trust me, we're in for a really good time."

Theodore considered that point and looked much happier.

"I just hope Snape takes a lot of points from the Gryffindors!" said Pansy Parkinson. "Yesterday there was this horrid Granger girl going about how Flitwick had given her ten points for her homework …"

Harry snorted amusedly. He restrained himself from commenting on anything like this. As usual he was bored with his classmates pretty soon, so he turned to experimenting around with his pumpkin juice.

When Harry was making his now solid, but slimy juice move around on his plate, the owls came. Harry was surprised when Hedwig let a letter fall onto his plate, but he reacted quickly and pulled it away from the wriggling juice.

Hedwig nibbled at his ear while he read.

Dear Harry,

I know you have Friday afternoon off. Wouldn't you like to visit me and have a cup of tea? I want to know everything about your first week. Send me Hedwig with an answer.

Hagrid

Harry knew that he had to go if only to be polite, but he also thought that maybe he could try to find some things out from Hagrid. He had indeed not forgotten about the conversation between McGonagall and Sprout on his first morning.

He borrowed Marcus Flint's quill and wrote, "Yes, of course, I'll be there later", on the back of the letter and sent Hedwig off with it.

Snape's Potions classroom was deep down in the dungeons. A few people looked anxiously at the sight of the objects and even small animals that were pickled in glasses at the walls. The Potions Master entered the room and silenced them with one glare.

First Snape read out the list of names. When he reached Harry's name, he paused. "Oh, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."

Naturally all the attention went to Harry. Two Gryffindor girls stuck their heads together and whispered something to each other. They both looked at Harry and giggled. He demonstratively ignored them.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-brewing." It was little more than a whisper, but they understood every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to really understand the beauty of the softly shimmering fumes, the delicate power of the liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds and ensnaring the senses … I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – that is if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

The class remained silent. One thing was already clear: No one would dare as much as to take too loud a breath in Snape's class.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly said. "What would I get if I added powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Er …" Harry racked his brains. He'd read about that somewhere, he was sure … what was it again? A Gryffindor girl with bushy hair thrust her hand into the air. "The … the Draught of Living Death?"

"The Draught of Living Death, SIR." Snape hissed. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look to find a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of a goat, sir."

Snape scowled. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There is no difference, sir. They are the same plant."

"At least even famous Potter did not think it below him to open a book before coming. Why aren't you writing this down?"

The class quickly complied, pulled out parchments and scribbled everything down.

"What are you doing there, Potter?"

"Taking notes." Snape couldn't possibly punish Harry for that, could he?

"And why, if I may ask, are you doing so? There is no need for you to write down what you have already told me. I only addressed the rest of this class. But of course you couldn't do what anyone asks of you, could you?"

"Sorry." Harry laid his quill down and refrained from pointing out to Snape that this was completely unfair and that he hadn't done anything wrong at all.

Later the Gryffindors and Slytherins were put into pairs to make a simple draught for healing boils. Harry was paired up with Blaise Zabini.

Snape strode from table to table, his long cloak billowing behind him and looked over the students shoulders, making nasty comments to everyone except for Draco Malfoy. The Gryffindors got off the worst, though. If you took Snape seriously, they were all completely hopeless cases in potion making. He deducted points from them for every silly thing.

"At least he won't take any points from you. I heard that Snape as good as never takes points from his own house. But he really seems to dislike you …" Blaise whispered.

Before Harry could answer, clouds of green smoke and a loud fizzling filled the dungeon. Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, nervous Gryffindor had somehow managed to melt his cauldron. The contents spilled all over the floor, as well as over Longbottom.

"You idiot!" Snape snarled at him and wiped away the spilled potion with a wave of his wand. "I take it you added the porcupine pastilles before you took the cauldron off the fire?"

Longbottom whimpered, due to the boils that were spreading everywhere on his body. Now even on his nose.

"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape hissed at the boy next to Longbottom. Then he turned to Harry.

"You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the pastilles? Thought you'd look better yourself if he messed up? You're lucky I'm not taking any points from you."

Harry forced himself not to talk back. Instead he acted as though he had not heard Snape.

"Okay, forget about dislike," Blaise told Harry when they left Snape's dungeon a while later. "He really hates you. Have you ever had anything to do with him before?"

Harry shook his head in confusion.

Why did Snape hate him so much? There was no reason for him to hold a grudge against Harry, was there?

During lunch Harry turned a deaf ear to Draco bragging about how Snape had praised the way he had cut his snails.

In the afternoon he left the castle and went down to Hagrid's small wooden hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. When Harry knocked he heard something barking and scratching at the door from inside.

"Back, Fang – sit." Hagrid opened the door and let Harry in.

"Make yourself comfortable," said Hagrid and set a can of tea and a plate with cookies onto the table.

"Well, how was yer firs' week? Ye gettin' along with everyone? Which house are you in?" he asked.

"My week was great, I've been getting along with about everyone, there are quite some nice people, actually," Harry told him. He bit on a cookie that seemed to have a similar consistency to concrete. Thus he dipped the rest of the cookie into his tea. "And I was sorted into Slytherin."

"Slytherin?" Hagrid repeated.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, I jus' thought – cause yer paren's were both in Gryffindor – but then again, tha's no reason that you should be, too …" Hagrid changed his dumbfounded expression into an encouraging smile. "Still, you'll do wonderful there, jus' wonderful, I can tell. Now, tell me some more. I'm curious."

Harry told Hagrid about his first lessons, and about Potions this morning, and Snape.

"Don' worry 'bout him. He's a git, that one, can't stand almost any of ye children."

"But he really seemed to hate me."

"Nonsense, why should he?" But Hagrid averted Harry's eyes when he said that.

"He was mean to the others, too, but not nearly as bad as to me …"

"Tha's prob'ly cause yer famous," mumbled Hagrid. Harry was not convinced.

When Hagrid poured him some more tea, Harry noticed a piece of paper on the table. It was an article from the Daily Prophet. And it was about a break-in at Gringotts in the holidays.

According to the article, somebody had broken in and searched for something in a vault that had just been emptied that day, so nothing had actually been stolen. It was assumed to be the work of Dark witches or wizards.

"Hey, Hagrid! About this Gringotts thing, you don't by any chance know what was in that vault they tried to rob, do you? Cause I heard some teachers talking about something like that …"

Hagrid was caught off guard. "W – what?" He anxiously looked at the article in question. "Oh … wha' did yer hear?"

Hagrid knew about it, so much was for sure, Harry decided. "Well … something about that this thing was hidden at Hogwarts now … Please, Hagrid, tell me what it is."

"I don' know!"

"Yes, you do, I know you do. Please, Hagrid, I'm dying to know …" Harry pleaded and showed his best attempt at puppy eyes.

Hagrid looked a little torn, but snorted in amusement. "'Course you would … but no … I'd like ter tell ya, but ya really shouldn' know …"

"Mmh … then I'll have to find it out myself, I guess." Harry sighed in defeat.

"No, you won'! I know you'd like ter fin' out, but tha's dangerous! This is a matter only between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel."

Harry looked a little disappointed, but inwardly cheered at Hagrid's slip.

Nicolas Flamel …

Now all he had to do was find out who that was.

A/N: The usual question … your opinion?


End file.
